


A Precious Life Saved

by ambersagen



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Age Play Little Jaskier | Dandelion, Ageplay, Alternate Universe - Littles and Caregivers, Bathing, Biological Littles Caregivers and Pets, Caregiver Lambert, Caregiver Vesemir, Cuddles, Daddy Vesemir, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hand Feeding, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Lambert angst, Little Jaskier, Little abuse, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Semi Puppies Geralt and Eskel, all the fluff for little Jaskier, mentions of child abuse, slight angst, sort of but not so much play because biologically assigned roles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:34:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28810437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambersagen/pseuds/ambersagen
Summary: Nothing prepared them for Vesemir to pull back his cloak to reveal the sight of a young man clinging like a monkey on the old Witcher’s hip, his sleepy face red cheeked with cold.“Are we fucking taking the Law of Surprise again?” Lambert seethed, hand twitching towards swords that weren’t there. “Or did you forget we don’t do that shit anymore?”
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Vesemir, Lambert & Vesemir (The Witcher), Vesemir & all the Witchers, familial relationships - Relationship
Comments: 8
Kudos: 130





	A Precious Life Saved

**Author's Note:**

> omg an actual, complete fic posted? doesn't sound like me but ok.

Kaer Morhen, home and refuge to the last surviving Witchers of the School of the Wolf, was empty.

Eskel stood in the courtyard, absently checking the walls for new damage and determined not to ponder why he was the first one to arrive at the keep this winter. There were many options, and it did little good to dwell on the darker reasons for why this might have happened.

He chose to believe a kind one. That he was simply the first to return from the path. That was all there was to it. Until he had new information or more time had passed without the return of the master of the keep, there was no reason to worry over what he could not control. So what if his stomach had dropped near into his boots when he realized that for the first time since the massacre and the destruction of the Witchers schools, Vesemir was not the first to return from the path?

He knew logically that the old Witcher still went out, patrolling nearby villages for any monsters foolish enough to near the Witcher’s keep. But Vesemir wasn’t prone to wandering far. He was old, and the fortress older. He prided himself on keeping the place standing and ready to welcome back any stray pack member who wandered home each winter.

No one ever returned from the path before Vesemir.

He sighed, turning back to the keep with a weary droop that he didn't bother to hide. The rocks would keep his secrets. They always had.

He only hoped their master would return soon, unharmed and formidable as always. In the meantime he could almost hear the old man listing off all the chores that needed to be done to ready their home for winter.

He hoped someone else showed up soon. He’d been looking forward to having a conversation with someone who didn’t try to eat his shirt for once.

-

Geralt dismounted with a groan that would have made any decent woman blush to hear.

He was tired.

The Path was never easy, but this year had been a string of bad luck and he was so glad to be done with it. He desperately hoped Lambert made it back this year, because he wanted nothing more than a drink strong enough to blind him, with his brothers along to cuss out the world for its unfairness. He felt like he was due a long rant after that mess in Temeria at the very least.

He was disappointed somewhat to see that only Eskel’s horse was stabled, along with that funny little goat he had picked up last year as payment for a job. Geralt was mildly impressed he had managed to keep the dang thing alive.

He frowned. There should have been another horse, unless something had befallen the beast Vesemir kept for short trips and supply runs. He shook his head, guiding Roach into the barn and getting her settled. That would be a real pity, as the beast had been young and strong, a new purchase that would put them out a bit to replace. But none of the surviving Witchers ever begrudged each other the funds needed to replace the important tools of their trade; swords, horses, and potions.

“Eskel!” Geralt called out in greeting, catching sight of his brother across the hall as he paused to hang his cloak.

“Geralt. Welcome home, wolf.”

They embraced, giving each other many strong thumps on the back, no rush to separate. The Path was a lonely thing, and it was always a relief to be home and know the others were safe.

“Vesemir out?” Geralt asked, finally pulling back, but not too far, his hand still lingering on Eskel’s broad shoulder. “Word from anyone else come yet?”

Eskel shook his head, soft brown hair flopping over his eyes. “We’re first back.” He felt the hand on him tense, and he nodded grimly. “No message from Vesemir about when he would return, or what he left for. Lambert isn’t late yet at least, so I wouldn’t worry yet.”

“Vesemir wasn’t here when you arrived?” Geralt was definitely worried, and Eskel leaned forward to knock shoulders with his friend.

“Calm, Geralt. There was no sign of anything amiss when I got here. He could be out on the path.” possible, but not something that had happened in the fifty years since the massacre at the keep. “Or he could be retrieving supplies.” a less likely scenario, seeing as they would surely have met him in town if so. Eskel grasped the hand still gripping his shoulder, covering it with his own. “Let’s not spend time worrying about what we can’t change and worry instead about getting this place ready for winter before Vesemir returns to yell at us.”

For a moment the White Wolf stared painfully into the distance, then the moment passed with a huffed sigh of agreement. “You must have taken one too many blows to the head this year if you think anything will stop Vesemir from grumbling at us.” He teased.

And so the two of them settled in to wait.

-

Lambert showed up in the middle of a blizzard, cussing up a storm and completely uninterested in the location of the eldest Witcher.

“Fucking tits,” he swore, hands slipping as he pulled at his wet boot. It came free with a soggy thud, mud and snow dropping off onto the floor. “You assholes better have filled the pantry this year. I refuse to be the only one freezing my ass off out there, not again. Ugh,” the other boot came off, and he wasted no time dropping his sodden cloak to join it on the floor in his rush to get in front of the fireplace. “Colder than Vesemir’s old, shriveled heart out there,” he commented with a feral grin as both Geralt and Eskel leaned back from where they had been sitting to avoid being dripped on.

Satisfied that his arrival had caused enough discomfort to his brothers, Lambert dropped into a cross legged seat and held his hands up to the blaze. “Where’s the old man?” He asked idly as he noticed the eldest Witcher’s absence. “He asleep already? Must be hard being older than dirt.”

“He’s not back yet,” Geralt said resentfully. His socks had gotten wet in the sudden puddle Lambert had brought in with him and he wasn’t feeling particularly charitable to the youngest asshole.

“Back from a supply run?” Lambert questioned, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

“Back at all. From the Path,” Eskel said, when Geralt just continued to scowl at his socks. “We don’t think he’s been back in months. Or at least, there wasn’t any sign of him when I got here three weeks ago.”

Lambert said nothing, clenching his jaw and staring into the flickering firelight. There wasn’t anything to say really. Except-

“Old fucker better hurry up then. This isn't going to block off the pass but I bet my purse the next storm will.” And with that Lambert stomped off to the kitchen, uncaring that he was in nothing but his wet pants and in an even more foul mood than he’d been while climbing the mountain in the blizzard.

-

It was another week before the gate of the keep was opened again, the snow having let up a few days ago, leaving the training yard a muddy, slippery mess that the three avoided with only the smallest twinge to their conscious.

They all looked up at the noise of the old gate creaking open, then turned wide eyed to each other, before bolting toward the door in a mad scramble of upturned benches and playful shoving. Vesemir was back at last!

Vesemir was standing near the gate, dismounted already and back turned to them as they approached at a run.

“What took you, old man? We thought you finally tripped up and got your fat gut split open in some dark cave,” Lambert jeered, his happiness over their mentor’s return coming out extra assholish in his excitement.

The eldest Witcher turned slowly, and the trio tensed. There was something odd about his shape, the bulk of his winter cloak jutting and misshapen from his side, his movements heavy and hindered.

“Vesemir?” Eskel said, unsure of what he was asking.

Geralt didn’t have his confusion. “Are you hurt? What’s going on?”

“Hmmm.” Vesemir gave them all a very unimpressed look, which left them somewhat reassured that he wasn’t dying at least, whatever the problem had been that delayed the old wolf’s return home. “An interrogation on my own doorstep. Move over you savages. Let me get inside before you start hounding me.”

“We were concerned! You-“ Geralt froze suddenly, eyes dilating and head jerking up as if he scented something on the breeze. The other two tensed in reaction, unable to catch what had set off the more enhanced Witcher’s senses but instinctively ready to back him up.

Vesemir sighed.

Something under his cloak moved, and whined.

If he wasn’t cold and tired the older Witcher might have laughed at the perfect sync with which his pups jerked back like soaked cats.

“Eskel, get the horse. Geralt, the door. Lambert, I hoped one of you cooked because we need a hot meal. There was a small landslide on the path up and we’re half frozen from climbing around.”

“We?” Geralt asked, staring at the lump and scenting the air like a confused dog.

“Yes. Now go!” Vesemir said, pushing past the trio and scattering them to their jobs as they tried to wrap their heads around this newest development.

Nothing prepared them for Vesemir to pull back his cloak to reveal the sight of a young man clinging like a monkey on the old Witchers’s hip, his sleepy face red cheeked with cold.

“What the fuck?” Lambert gaped, tray of food hastily gathered, dropped with a clatter to the table, a few tomatoes rolling off to the wood surface. “Is that a human?”

“What’s wrong with him?” Geralt asked, disturbed by the way the man-boy?- tucked in closer to the old Witcher at the sound of raised voices.

“Are we fucking taking the Law of Surprise again?” Lambert seethed, hand twitching towards swords that weren’t there. “Or did you forget we don’t do that shit anymore?”

“Calm yourself, pup. The boy’s a Little. My Little to be precise.”

“A Little? Where did you get him?” Eskel wasn’t angry like Lambert, but he was concerned. Kaer Morhen was no place for a Little. Even in the old days the Witchers had never taken Littles in for any reason, not for training or for raising.

But Vesemir clearly had intentions to keep the boy, at least for the winter. There would be no leaving now that the snow had set in.

The old Witcher sighed, rocking the boy lightly when he shivered, his eyes tired and soft.

“His name is Julian. Took him off the real piece of work who sired him,” he said, walking stiffly over to the table to snag a towel. He continued, wiping the Little’s face dry from the snow. The boy pouted, but didn’t whine at the attention. “A nobleman who was happy enough to hand off his son and heir as a payment to an unknown Witcher just because the boy is a Little.”

“And you just agreed to that?” Lambert demanded, agitation in every line of his body. Knowing Lambert, the rage was directed at both the piece of shit father and at Vesemir for taking a human as payment for a job. A Little at that. “What the hell were you thinking?”

With a sigh, Vesemir sagged, dropping slowly onto the bench before the table as if his body finally felt his age. Eskel looked away, uncomfortably. He was reminded of that horrible feeling of returning to find the keep empty. To see Vesemir, the oldest and most experienced of them all, seem so vulnerable, it hit him uncomfortably in the gut.

With another sigh, Vesemir looked at them. His three remaining trainees, the last of the Witchers of Kaer Morhen. He was proud. But it was a pride permeated with regret and sorrow, and here was his chance to, if not redeem himself, at least to not repeat the mistakes of the past.

“You pups are all grown up. He needed me.” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as memories of others, of years and losses and endless fighting passed before him like visions.

“I have walked my Path for over 200 years,” he said, opening his eyes and staring steadily at the three younger Witchers. “And I am tired. Monsters come in every form," his upper lip peeled back in a silent snarl at so many ghosts and memories of the cruelties of humans and beasts crossed his mind. "And I will not lose another child to their violent appetites. If I can save even one innocent such as this with only a little of my time and love, then who am I to deny my aid?"

He ran a gentle hand over Julian's head, and the Little pressed up into the Caretaker's touch like a beloved and content pet.

"This Little was unloved, neglected and abused by those who should have cared for him. He would have died...” Here he trailed off, overcome with whatever he had seen that set him so strongly for saving the Little.

The three younger Witchers were shocked. Never in all their years of having known their old sword master had they known him to be so overcome with emotion.

The human leaned against the old Witcher, absently touching the embroidery on the worn collar in front of him as Vesemir held him tighter to his chest, as if afraid that the mere memory of his abuse could reach out and snatch him away. Julian was a pretty youth, just out of boyhood - as much as that mattered in the case of Littles. But there were signs, thin fingers, gaunt cheekbones with fading shades of blue and green. Whatever Vesemir had taken him away from was clearly terrible, to anyone who took the time to look for it.

The younger Witchers looked, and understood.

A deep secret of Witcher creation was this: the best and worst Witchers were Caretakers. Those designated as such were either vicious defenders of humanity, or lost themselves completely in the cruelty of their work. The world they lived in was one that did not trust Witchers to have the same feelings and souls as other humans, and it was this same world that denied Caretaker Witchers the basic human contact and appreciation they needed to thrive. Because of this too many Witchers had languished, faded away at the toll of their perceived failures each time humanity recoiled in fear and mistrust.

“You mean to keep him. To care for him and not pass him along to another human Caretaker.” Geralt said solemnly. It wasn’t a question, but Vesemir nodded in assent regardless.

“If this is what you have decided must be done we will support you,” Eskel told their elder, as usual the most diplomatic of the three. “Forgive us, Vesemir. We were only...surprised.”

“Pretty fucking shocked is more like it,” Lambert scoffed, but then just shrugged at the twin glares his brothers gave him. “I didn’t say it was a bad idea, did I? I mean, we know fuck all about caring for a Little properly but we’re out of the child torture businesses so we probably won’t kill him.” He made a face, considering. “Or not on purpose at least.”

They all winced at the reminder, but said nothing to admonish him. Because Lambert too, was a Caretaker. It was another unspoken rule that you just didn’t argue with him about how Witchers were made, and whether it was right or wrong or even necessary. He walked the knife edge of madness each year as it was, and none of them were willing to be the one to push him over. Dwelling too long on what had been done to them all, what they would have allowed done to others, had they been old enough before the massacre, that was an argument they would never win.

The Little tugged on Vesemir's sleeve, and his face peeked out shyly from where it had been pressed against the old Witcher's shoulder their whole conversation.

"Yes little one?" Vesemir asked, his voice soft and eyes twinkling. "What is it?"

"I gotta go," Julian said, his own voice surprisingly deep for a Little, and melodic, going slightly whiny with embarrassment. "Gotta go now, Ves."

"Ah, I see,” Vesemir began the careful shift back to his feet without jostling the Little too much. “Come along then. We can get you a bath after. The trip home has made you a very stinky pup!"

"Nuh uh!" The Little objected, wiggling in offense as he tried to get to the floor. Vesemir simply bounced the human in his hold, catching the boy by the bum when he yelped and grabbed back onto the old man. "I'm not stinky, Ves! I had a bath in town! With bubbles and the yellow soap, remember?"

"Yes, that you did. But that was days ago and you've been riding Thunder the whole trip. We both smell like horse."

The trio watched as Vesemir, with never before seen gentleness, took the Little off to be bathed.

They stood, in silent thought, for longer than was comfortable before Lambert finally growled, and stormed out. Conveniently moving in the same direction as Vesemir and the keep’s newest inhabitant. A Little, in Kaer Morhen.

His thoughts were a maelstrom of confusion, anger, and longing as Lambert followed Vesemir and the Little back to the old Witcher’s room. 

Vesemir; his mentor, his father figure, the one Witcher who he blamed for all the shit and pain in his life but at the same time longed to make proud. 

His feelings toward the older Witcher had always been a complicated mess, but it was a familiar mess, one he was comfortable in even when the feelings were horrible to deal with. 

He didn’t know how to feel about this.

For decades now there had been only the four of them, minus the occasional Witcher visiting from another school. Four Wolf School Witchers against the whole bloody awful world of monsters and human scum. But a Little changed things. A Little changed _everything_. 

“Are you going to stand out there all night, pup?” Vesemir’s amused rumble called to him from inside the room, followed by a soft giggling and murmured comments to the human. He blinked, shaking himself with a low growl as he realized he wasn’t sure how long he had been standing outside the older Witcher’s room.

He sighed, sudden exhaustion dropping onto his shoulders as he cautiously pushed open the door to the sleeping chamber. 

The room was well lit by a large fire, presumably built up high to heat the room faster for the sake of the delicate human. The old copper tub that usually rested in the corner had been dragged to the middle of the room, several pitchers of various sizes all sitting near the blaze to warm. 

From the bed the Little (Julian, Lambert reminded himself. These halls had seen too many nameless boys come and go. Too many nameless boys die alone and unmourned in unmarked graves. He would remember this boy’s name), stared at him with bright, excited eyes, only the hands wringing the hem of the overlarge tunic (one of only two tunics Vesemir owned for sleeping in) gave away any indication that he was wary of the stranger entering the room.

“Good timing, help me with Julian’s bath will you?” Vesemir ordered, distractedly dipping a finger into the pitcher closest to the fire to check its temperature. 

Lambert’s gaze flicked between Vesemir and the Little, nerves rising tightly in his stomach as he considered his options. Vesemir seemed content to ignore him, focused on doing his own thing as the younger Witcher slowly approached the bed and awaiting Little. 

“Hello,” he said awkwardly, raising one hand, at first to wave, but then stretching out at the last minute to take Julian’s hand in a small handshake. Julian twitched, but he was smiling like Lambert was possibly doing something strange and humorous, so he decided to just push on. He didn’t have anything in the way of Caretaker experience, but his biology urged him to get acquainted with the Little, so that was what he would do. 

“I don’t know if your...daddy told you.” His eyes flicked nervously over to Vesemir, but the old man showed no signs of having any issue with Lambert talking to the boy, or naming him the Little’s daddy. 

“I’m Lambert. Your daddy helped train me to be a Witcher.” 

Julian nodded, his face an adorable picture of seriousness that was undermined by the pink cheeks and nose, and crazy hat hair from being carried under a cloak all day. All in all the human was a bit of a mess, and Lambert gave no objection when Vesemir gestured for him to ready the boy for his bath. 

Oddly enough, Vesemir seemed content to leave the actual Caretaking to Lambert, only supervising and filling the tub as the other Witcher undressed and settled the Little in for washing. Julian himself seemed thrilled to be in the warm water, humming contentedly, lost in his own imagination as Lambert took up a cloth and began scrubbing away the grime of travel on the Little’s skin. Lambert tried not to let it show just how much his nature was humming and burning under his skin, turning every kind touch into live fire as he finally, finally got the chance to be what he was born to be. Someone who could look after others, a Caretaker who would do his damned hardest to care for a Little. A Caretaker who had never gotten the chance to try. 

"Is this really a good idea?” He finally ventured, unwilling to look at his mentor but unwilling still to stay quiet about his misgivings. His voice stayed deep, anger masking the vocal tremor of worry he was sure he could feel in his gullet. “What can a bunch of leftover Witchers do for a child?" His hands were gentle as they rinsed the boy's skin, belaying the soft heart that Lambert hid behind sharp words. "We hunt monsters. Hells, we _are_ monsters half the time."

Vesemir said nothing. Instead, he reached out, pulling the younger Caretaker into his arms and back against his chest in as tight an embrace as the Witcher would allow. Lambert froze at the action, hands still outstretched where they rested on the Little’s shoulder. Words never soothed Lambert like solid contact did. Vesemir let a rumble build in his chest, a soothing sound akin to a purr that made his pup jerk back, a wave of water coming with him as he moved to grip tightly at the arms around him, his hands wet and cloth still held in a death grip in his right hand. He tilted his head back just a fraction, pressing his face against the bulk of muscle Vesemir had built through the decades with a distressed chuckle. 

Several splashes of water, followed by wet hands to his face reminded Lambert of the Little in the tub, and Lambert raised his head with a wet smile. Julian stared back, a serious look on his bruised and tired face that showed an understanding even Geralt and Eskel struggled with at times.

"Hello, Little one," he said, voice soft. Vesemir did not release him from the hug, and Lambert found himself embarrassingly grateful for it. Having the older Caretaker at his back made him feel a little more capable of facing the Little before him. "Sorry about that, let's get you washed up, ok?"

"You're ok." Julian said, his hands falling from Lambert's face as he sat back in the tub, seemingly satisfied with whatever he saw in the Witcher's eyes. "Don't forget to wash behind my ears!" His attention already turning back to the bubbles that floated in a meager layer on the water.

They stayed like that together, Lambert making sure to clean each spot Julian pointed out to him, Vesemir a solid, warm presence supporting him in approving silence only broken by the occasional response to Julian's increasingly random questions and demands as the Little gradually began to lose the battle to his exhaustion.

Eventually Vesemir leaned back, drawing apart from Lambert with a fond ruffle of the man's hair, which earned him a nasty frown from the pup and a giggle from Julian. "Can you get him dressed while I set up his bed?" Vesemir asked, knowing Lambert wouldn't refuse. "He needs extra layers for the chill. I brought a few sets of my old clothes for him."

"His father didn't deign to send him off with his own wardrobe?" Lambert said, voice deceptively kind as he sneered over the top of Julian's head. The Little remained blissfully unaware of the fury building again in his Caretaker, completely missing the looks the Witchers were exchanging as he yawned widely, the length of the day beginning to set in. 

"No. Besides the clothes on his back the only thing I managed to shake out of the bastard was an old lute, and that only because Julian screamed bloody murder over the prospect of leaving it behind"

"Lute?" Julian perked up, only to immediately wobble as his eyes dropped again. The boy was clearly done in.

"Maybe later, pup," Vesemir said, planting a kiss on the boy's head. "Sleep time now. Lambert, I'll be back."

"Make sure the idiot duo haven't burned anything down while we were busy," Lambert snarked, but his attention was mostly on the Little. Vesemir smiled, and resolved to give the younger Witcher some time to indulge his Caretaker instinct. Unlike Vesemir, Lambert had been far too new and young to ever be given the responsibility of training younger Witchers, a common 'cure' the mages prescribed for Witchers struggling with their biological needs. In the end, the deaths of their brothers and the end of their school was probably the only thing that saved Lambert. Vesemir couldn't imagine a world where the younger wolf had to stand by and send children off to be mutated or killed. He wouldn’t have made it.

As he shut the door behind him, the sounds of water and happy Little babbling became muffled even to Witcher senses, and Vesemir sent up a prayer of thanks. He was glad that this was the path they were all destined to take. As hard as it was, and as much as he missed his long gone brothers on some days, this path was better for his pups.

Voices echoed from out in the main space, the good natured sounds of bickering and scuffling overgrown men guiding the old Witcher right to where his missing pups were having a whispered argument, no doubt over the family’s newest arrival. 

“Alright you two,” Vesemir said, enjoying the way they straightened up like kids caught with their fingers in the honey jar. “Julian is currently being set up for the night in my room.” The pair cast sideways glances at each other, but only nodded at his words. “Lambert already asked so I’m telling you two now so there’s no confusion. Julian is here to stay and I expect you to both do your best to make him feel loved and welcome. That Little has experienced some shit, so try to keep it calm for a bit at least. We don’t know what will spook the boy yet.” He refrained from rubbing his head as the two idiots sheepishly shuffled in place, obviously aware of the overturned chairs and pieces of bread laying around the room, all of which hadn’t been in such a state when Vesemir, Julian, and Lambert had left the room.

Geralt looked at Eskel, who seemed to give this some serious thought. “Sure, we can do that. He’s pretty young for a Little, right?” Vesemir nodded in agreement and Eskel turned to Geralt with a smile. “We should get the kid something nice. A welcome present.”

“Hmmm. Not a bad idea. But what could we get him?

“He needs basic clothes and bedding,” Vesemir said, and both wolves rolled their eyes at him.

“Even I know a kid won’t be excited to get socks for a present,” Geralt said, causing Vesemir to huff in affront. “We should get him something he wants.”

“Food?” Eskel asked, and Geralt seemed to agree as he perked up at the thought. “Ideally we would get him something sweet, but the pass will definitely be closed before we can make a trip down and back up.”

“Meat. We should get him meat,” Geralt said, a dreamy, far off look in his eyes. “I remember being young. We were always so damn hungry, even if we’d just eaten.”

“True. Although I don't know how much of that was the training and mutations.”

Geralt waved dismissively. “Women are always complaining that their kids eat them out of house and home. Always another mouth to feed.”

“Meat it is then.” Eskel tilted his head, thinking hard. “Maybe duck and veal? I’m assuming you ate jerky and rabbits all the way here.” He said, turning to Vesemir.

“Aye, nothing wrong with rabbit.” The old Witcher grumped. Geralt and Eskel only grinned, knowingly. Vesemir only knew about three recipes, and two of those contained rabbit.

“But we want him to be excited,” Geralt argued, looking pretty excited now himself. “We can get fish too, the ice is still thin enough for non-Lamberts to go fishing.”

“Fish, veal, duck.” Eskel nodded. “We can try some of the fancier sweet meats dishes I read about while trapped over the rainy season with that count.”

“Lets go now. That way we can have it all butchered by dinner tomorrow!”

“I’ll just stay here and get his sleeping arrangements made then, shall I?” Vesemir said sarcastically, but neither Witcher noticed, too caught up in enthusiasm for their plan. They practically fell over each other in their haste to get outside, and Vesemir sighed fondly. Those two, big puppies, both of them. When a Witcher wasn't a Caretaker they were more often than not Pets, for obvious reasons. It wasn’t ideal, as Pets tended to get lonely if off on their own for too long, but it made for damn fine hunters with a protective streak almost as wide as a Caretaker.

Vesemir sighed, resigned to setting up his new Little's bed on his own, while his pups were out hunting for dubious presents for the baby and his responsible, angry son got his first taste of struggling to open up to his Caretaker side.

His family might have been small, but they sure were troublesome. And he wouldn't have them any other way.

  
  


🐺-----🌼\-----🐺-----🌼\-----🐺

Everything was so lovely. He was warm, tucked in and under many soft furs and blankets, cleaner than he had been in years. The horrible, itchy burning rash that had plagued him ever since he could remember, was fading under his new Daddy's gentle care. All his bruises and tummy pains were going away too, weeks of real food and no punishments meant his body was finally able to heal. It was like magic, his new Daddy riding in on a big black horse and sweeping him away to an enchanted castle on a distant, snowy mountain top.

He had been scared at first. His old home was scary too, but it was a familiar kind of scary. His father (not Daddy, he wasn't allowed to call him Daddy) was _always_ angry about something. Sometimes he was angry about Julian's hair, or dress (he was always Julian Alfred Pankratz, never Julek, or sweet boy, or anything kind and loving like his momma or sister used to call him before the Goddess called them to heaven). 

Father hated many things, untidiness most of all, so always demanded Julek be buttoned up and combed and polished like he was one of the many suits of armor on display in the halls. Julek, Julian to father and anyone within hearing distance of him, was supposed to be a pretty doll. He wasn't to speak, definitely never to complain about how tightly the maids had laced him up, or how his boots pinched. Heaven forbid he needed to pee, or his tummy growled where his father's courtiers could hear. There were so many rules Julek must follow or his father would punish him, but even when he tried his best he seemed to always fail. 

Or that's what everyone always told him when they spanked him or slapped him around and sent him to bed without supper. They said Julian was bad, stupid, a big baby and a waste of space, all of which only got cruller over the years as his body grew but his inside, all his thoughts and needs, stayed the same. His brothers pretended he didn't exist unless they were feeling bored. Julek hated when they felt bored, and always did his best to hide from their meanness. 

He had been hiding under a table in the blacksmith's stall near the barn when the Witcher arrived. 

Witchers were a _very_ familiar concept to Julian, who had often been subjected to many threats and wild tales of the monstrous mutated men who would, if they ever laid eyes on him, steal him away to their evil fortresses to turn him into a monster too. Or eat him. Or use him as monster bait. His cousins had vivid imaginations when it came to describing the various terrible ends the Witchers would bring if they got their hands (or claws, or talons, his cousins changed the shape of Witchers almost as often as they changed what tortures the Witchers were capable of) on Julian. They had similar stories regarding sorceresses and all sorts of monsters of course, but Witchers were a family favorite since they were known specifically for taking children, and as the only Little in the Pankratz line, Julian was doomed to be a child forever. A terrible, pathetic, unwanted existence. 

Julian almost crawled out from under the table and begged the Witcher to take him then and there, just to get it over with, but he didn't quite dare, and then it didn't even matter because his father threw him to the Witcher as payment the first chance he got. 

Julek (not Julian anymore. Father said his name would be struck from the family registry, and that he was no longer a Pankratz, so Julek decided that he would no longer be Julian either) didn't know that everything was about to change for the better as he rode out that evening with the old Witcher. But the solid chest he leaned back against had smelled like lemongrass and leather, and he was surprisingly warm, wrapped together with the Witcher under the same cloak. Later that night, in the light of a well tended campfire, he was sat down on a horse blanket laid over wild grasses, and given toasted bread with cheese and dried fruits as Vesemir, the old Witcher, made a thick rabbit stew and told him stories of his home high on top of the mountains. He told Julek of the goat herd that grazed wild on the high peaks while he was off saving the world from monsters. He also talked about his boys, his wolf pups. How strong they were, how kind. He promised Julek a family, and Julek felt the first tentative blossom of hope he had felt since his mother and sister died, bloom in his chest.

A large hand, warm and calloused all along the palm, covered his face for a moment as fingers brushed the hair from his eyes, The touch brought him barely out of the deep, almost dream-like thinkin he had been doing, and he found himself coming back to the here and now. Lettenhove was far behind him, and he’d every reason to want to enjoy the life he had today.

Sleepily he forced his drooping lids open, tilting his head up. Daddy Ves looked down at him with a soft smile. It was really hard to see because his mustache covered his face like a long, gray ferret, but Julek could tell. Daddy Ves had deep eye crinkles that scrunched up with amusement when he smiled.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, lad. You haven’t finished your lunch and if you sleep now you will be all full of wiggles come bedtime.”

Julek rubbed his sleepy eyes with a soft curled fist. He yawned, his mouth bones practically popping it was such a big stretch, but despite that he turned agreeably on the old Witcher’s lap to accept more food from the eager Witchers waiting with offerings.

He felt like a king, laying content on his Daddy’s lap, Vesemir’s large, soft belly the throne he reclined against, the old quilts and soft furs wrapped around him like the finest silks in the land.

Like a baby bird all he had to do was open his mouth and some delicious thing would be placed on his tongue. Savory meats and tangy berries, sweat glazed carrots or fresh bread. He hummed in delight as, this time, Geralt held out a small piece of cheese, the Witcher’s fingers sticky from the bit of honey dabbed on the end of it.

Daddy Ves had explained to him (without Julek even asking! And no yelling either, not at all like back home with father), that his new family would always look out for him. If he needed something, anything at all, he was to ask Daddy or the other Wolves. 

Julek already liked Lambert wolf very much. Lambwolf was a Caretaker just like Daddy, only not as big and furry. He was sharp and skinny, but unlike all the maids back home who were also sharp and skinny, Lambwolf never poked Julek or sneered at him for being a baby. Instead he gave Julek lots of cuddles and touches so gentle Julek felt like a kitten. You had to be real careful holding kittens, or so the stable boy had said to him the one time he had wandered off and found the castle's newest family in a pile of hay in an unused stall in the barn. The boy had been really nice too, showing Julek how to hold the babies so that they wouldn't get hurt, and he only teased a little when Julek got peed on for his troubles. 

Vesemir's other wolves were nice too. It was Geralt wolf and Eskel wolf who’d been bringing him all the delicious meals he had been enjoying. 

At first he’d been shy of all the attention they gave him. Back in Lettenhove the big warriors had never given him a second glance, only pushed him if he was in the way or occasionally demanded he give them all the money on his person until his father had caught on and he was no longer given any pocket money at all as a punishment for being wasteful. Daddy Ves said not to mind Geralt and Eskel wolf, that they were just big puppies excited to see their newest packmate. Lambwolf would sneer at them sometimes, just like the servants at home. But he never hit them, and when he said mean things they got excited and rolled him around on the floor like a bunch of dogs playing. It was a little alarming at first, but Julek decided (after watching very closely to see if they actually got hurt or cried) that they were having fun, not fighting. It was a strange way of having fun, but Daddy Ves said they were just overgrown mutts and that their bark was worse than their bite. And since Julek hadn't seen anyone get bit yet it must be ok. Besides, Lambwolf always patted his brother wolves on the heads and called them "good dogs", in a kind of mean voice but with a smile and soft touch. Julek decided Lambwolf was just grumpy, like the old cat who sired all the kittens at Lettenhove and only let the housekeeper pet him. 

They were a very weird family, he decided. But he liked being here better than anywhere else he had ever been or ever dreamed of; here where he was safe, happy, warm, fed, and most importantly loved. He was so glad his cousins had been right, and that the Witchers had come for him after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to what_about_the_fish for being an absolute rock when I had my meltdown over this. Thank you daddy.


End file.
